Wilted Eden
by Diva-Satanica
Summary: Jory and Toni's daughter Catherine thought she had the perfect life, the perfect family. If only she knew the true story of her families dramatic past. If only she knew what the future held.
1. Blurb

WILTED EDEN

A story of one girl's discovery of who her family _really _are. Yet another descendant of the Foxworth family is about to learn how to fall far down into an ocean of family secrets and betrayal.

Catherine Marisha Sheffield-Marquette thought she had it all, until she began to learn more about what her parents hadn't told her. Who her grandparents really were. And her great-grandparents. And those before them.

Catherine's dream world will be shattered by the reality of her father's family and how the lies and deceit slowly tore them apart.

Will Catherine realize her parents hid her from the reality to shield her from the pain they knew only too well.

And will Catherine cope – knowing the true identity of her seemingly flawless family?

Once again, a tale of treacherous family secrets and relationships so desperate they stand no chance of being saved.

Another generation suffers the secrets that began with the Foxworth inheritance.


	2. Prologue

Prologue

My mother and father always made sure I knew exactly who I was. I was Catherine Marisha Sheffield-Marquette, daughter of Julian Janus Marquette and Antonia Winters-Marquette and probably most importantly, I was the granddaughter of Christopher and, my name sake, Catherine Sheffield – whom both my parents talked about as if they were the gods that have ruled over us for such a time impossible by any mortal. I did not question their power, though. On the contrary, I loved hearing about my grandparents, whom I never knew – I wanted to know everything about the two people that made my wonderful parents gleam with happiness at the pure mention of their names. Yes, my name – Catherine – may be a little bit "common" and "boring" at such a time as this. But my parents have made sure I understand – I have the most special name that could ever exist to everyone who knew who I was, and where I was from.


	3. Father's Stories

Thanks to Becci Bennett for reading my prologue and checking it makes coherent sense!  
( Go read her fiction! Her username is Mmegiry )

Disclaimer  
I own none of the characters that are taken from the original series of books.  
Those belong to Ms V.C.Andrews  
I do, however, take responsibility for all the made up characters!

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Father's Stories

I was exactly fifteen and a half years old when, on a cool autumn night, I asked my father to tell me a story of our family history; as I had done so often at that age when mystery is everything. My father, who was named after his own father, Julian Marquette, my grandmother's first husband; chose that night to tell me, as he had many times before, all about his years living close-by to where we were at the time, in New York – a place my father had apparently sworn never to return to. Whenever I asked him why he wished not to return to a city I thought to be so beautiful – he would only say that it was all down to "bad memories" and that it "wasn't a place for the weak minded". Whenever I asked my mother why father had hated this place so much; she always said: "You're father see's New York as his enemy. As though it stabbed him in the back. This city gave your father everything he could ever wish for. But so easily it took everything straight back…the very second he left this place."

Then, she'd always try to change the subject by saying "Now, come one, young lady, it's time for beauty sleep," or: "Let's have some biscuits and muse over your math homework." My parents were wonderfully supportive of me throughout school. My father may sometimes have been a little too obsessed with my schooling; but I knew it was only because he didn't want me to end up with nothing – something he said he would suffer if he hadn't had "the most amazing family God could give." And my father wasn't particularly religious.

My father much preferred telling me the story of his younger years in New York when my mother wasn't around – he seemed to think it hurt her a little too much talking about his life before her. Maybe it did. I couldn't be sure – my mother, although an amazing woman, was always so careful in how she acted; as though she were worried something may happen that would have a bad effect on something, be it small or major.

It was hard to describe my mother. She was old fashioned in a way. She did everything exactly how my father wished. She was a devoted wife and mother. Yet she was also an amazing friend to me – she could talk to me in a way that sometimes made me forget she was an adult. She knew exactly how to make me talk about my emotions. In that respect, she was the perfect modern mom.

But, yes, my father loved telling me about his years here in New York and how he had been a ballet dancer (which he'd inherited from his own mother – "the best dancer there ever were.") and had done well in the profession. What my father disliked talking about was his first marriage – to a woman I have never personally met – Melodie Richarme. He had told me on one occasion how much he had adored his wife Melodie for so many years and how he thought her the perfect woman. They had met at such a young age – when they were both teenagers; and had stayed together for a decade of their lives. Only when he was talking about living in New York, did my father refer to Melodie Richarme as "the woman I loved with all my heart." I saw the pain in his eyes when he said that. He said it on that night to me, again.

I found it difficult to vision my father with anyone else except my amazing mother…but, of course, I had to. Otherwise there would be no explanation for my half brother and sister. Darren and Deidre were my father's two children to his first wife Melodie. To them he would talk much more about Melodie, for obvious reasons – which, of course, I understood and respected.

I couldn't possibly imagine how difficult it must have been for the twins to have to grow up with their father. Of course, they did see their mother – but it was only once every three or four months. I couldn't stand being away from my own mother for that long. And maybe because of that – their hurt of not being close with their mother – was their reasoning for taking out their anguish on me.

Oh yes, Darren and Deidre were "as thick as thieves", as my mother once referred to them, with each other. But they definitely did not like me. As far as I know, I hadn't tormented them in any conscious way. But they seemed to think that I was an alien being – purely because my mother was different to theirs. A stupid, child-like notion – as I saw it. Of course, after years of the twins little quips against me, I learned to harden myself against their tormenting; and so it slowly died down over the years. But nevertheless it remained. And, surprisingly, I only felt the full force of their emotions when my parents were out of earshot. Heaven forbid that the twins would give my father yet another reason to be mad at them. They weren't as stable as I had come to be – especially in school. They'd had problems adapting to the society of school and so hadn't done as well as I were. Although, in all fairness – everyone knew that Darren would just do _everything _Deidre asked of him. He worshipped his sister because she was so much stronger than he was, not that I would downplay his own capability. For some reason I never understood, Deidre seemed to have the upper hand. In a way, I found it slightly empowering that Deidre seemed to be the leader – as if she was sort of a vision of the powerful woman.

I sat right next to my fathers chair that night, listening to intently to his story of fame and fortune in New York; whilst the twins sat across the room; half listening. I couldn't understand how they couldn't be completely in awe of my father's stories. They only seemed to listen when Melodie Richarme was mentioned. Father told of the beauty of the dance art, and how it was the most perfect way he could possibly spend his life. And he told me of how cruelly it was taken away from him.


	4. The Mansion And It's Garden

The Mansion And It's Garden

That very next morning I awoke joyfully after having the most peaceful dream – in the beautiful garden of an enchanted mansion. Such fine detail did I remember from that dream, even now I remember everything I saw in that dream. I'd always had particularly vivid dreams. But this one had seemed different at the time. I _felt _different, waking up from it. I was sad, because I wanted to stay in that garden for ever and a day. But I was also happy. I wanted to tell Mom and Dad about my dream – as I always did. Perhaps they could explain to me why I felt so drawn to that garden.

After dressing, I skipped down the stairs of our house and imagined to myself what the inside of that giant mansion would have been like. In the dream I was perfectly content with staying in the garden, and felt no need to go inside the mansion. I walked into the kitchen, where my father and siblings were sat at the dining table, occupying themselves whilst my mother was at the cooker, making us all breakfast, as usual.

"Good morning, sunshine!" my mother called across to me, as I walked into their focus; knowing they could tell I was happier beyond usual this morning. I walked over to my mother and hugged her; I then headed over to the table and sat right beside my father.

"Hi daddy," I sung out, pouring myself a glass of orange juice and then filling up Dad's half-empty glass. He'd already placed the morning newspaper down on the table when he'd noticed me walk in the room. He smiled at me and then said: "Good morning, Doll," Doll was the name he had been calling me since I can't remember when. I never understood why and, whenever I asked, he simply laughed and said I reminded him of a porcelain doll – beautiful and dainty. "My, you are happy today," he added, observant as ever.

Darren and Deidre began eating at this point, after mother had produced them both their breakfasts first – as she always did. After acknowledging that I had entered the room, they returned to their usual pointless chatting – no doubt about some film they'd both watched when they were supposed to be asleep. Or about someone they disliked at school.

At that point, mother had next brought over mine and Daddy's breakfast, and finally her own. She sat down opposite me at the table. "Yes, Daddy. I'm very happy today," I informed him. I began eating my breakfast with the etiquette my mother had taught me – the usual don't talk with your mouth full, don't lean on the table when you're eating.

Mother then smiled at me and asked, "Go on then, Catherine. Tell us why you're so happy." I smiled back at her and began to chew my food much quicker so that I wouldn't have to prolong my story much longer. Of course, I wouldn't have spoken with food in my mouth – as Darren and Deidre sometimes did, I might point out. "Well, Mom," I began, "I had the most amazing dream last night." My parents were both listening intently; the twins seemed to be completely uninterested with my story.

"And what happened in your dream this time, Doll?" Dad asked me. I explained to them all about the magical garden I had been in. And how I'd felt so safe, despite being completely alone. How I'd been so happy…so content. "It really was the most amazing dream I've had, Daddy. I almost didn't want to wake up…but then I wouldn't have been able to tell you and mother about it. I wish you could have been there too. It was so peaceful and quiet," I told them.

My mother laughed. "Quiet. That would be nice," My father laughed at her comment as she looked toward Darren and Deidre. They appeared to take notice for a split second, and then continued with their own little conversation.

Father turned his attention back to me and then asked: "So, you mentioned a grand house. Did you not go in the grand house?" My mother also turned her attention back to the conversation. "As a matter of fact, Daddy, I didn't." I told him. "I was perfectly content in the garden." Again, I thought back to the beautiful flowers that draped the garden so perfectly; and the trees that supplied detail to such the vast space. I wondered to myself who kept that garden. Maybe it was Mother Nature's own. "I only saw the outside of it…but I know it was definitely such a majestic palace full of wonder and mystery." I gushed praise on how beautiful the mansion looked from the outside and how I thought it would look inside.

"Well, honey, it sounds like an amazing place," my mother told me. I nodded my head in agreement and took a sip of the orange juice I had barely touched through want of telling my story as soon as I possibly could. I was always in a hurry like that.

"The best part of the mansion, I remember, was – when I was walking up the pathway towards the front gates of the house – there was a beautiful gold plaque that stretched the whole distance of the gates, which were also amazing. They were so tall and wide. I almost felt intimidated by them," I explained, losing track of what I was trying to say.

"A golden plaque, Doll?" Ah, yes. Daddy often reminded me of my point when I went off-track; detailing everything I possibly could. I loved it when he did that. As if he kept me focused.

"Yes, a golden plaque. And do you know what it said? It was like an introduction. It was so grand and wonderful. It was as if it were boasting to all those that passed by: this marvel is all mine! The plaque, do you know what it said? It said 'Foxworth Hall'."


	5. Only A Dream?

"Only A Dream" ?

At that point I couldn't understand why my parents, and even Darren and Deidre, had all stopped whatever they were doing and were staring at me, all in stark silence. What had I said that caused such a reaction? My parents happy faces had completely vanished and the twins were now actually paying attention to me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, blankly, momentarily losing my common sense. I could've worded that question much better had I not been so confused at the time. The silence seemed to continue for what felt like hours. What was probably seconds later, my father clearly forced the smile back onto his face.

"Nothing is wrong, Doll. Now come on, it's a lovely sunny day outside – why don't you go and play outside with your friends from school?" Whatever had just happened then was clearly something I wasn't going to find out anything more about. My mother also pressured a faint smile back onto her face. After failing to act as well as my father, my mother quickly resigned herself to clearing all the dishes from the table.

I could think of nothing to say that didn't seem prying. I didn't want my parents angry at me and so I too resigned myself. I stood up and flashed a look at Darren and Deidre. They quickly looked away, and to each other – knowingly. Why did they know something I didn't?

As I began to exit the kitchen, my father called me back. I turned round and saw his expressionless face look at me, then look away again. "Forget about your dream. After all, it was only a dream." I nodded towards Daddy after he again looked to me for acknowledgement.

Instead of going outside I walked up to my bedroom quietly and sat on my bed, feeling strangely tired all of a sudden. I thought about what had just happened downstairs. I wasn't stupid and I knew that the chances of me finding out exactly what happened were extremely unlikely. And then I thought that the chances of whatever it was that had happened were of fundamental importance was also unlikely.

After persuading myself that this was indeed the truth, I decided to myself that I wouldn't waste time musing over the whole situation. I knew that Mom and Dad wouldn't purposefully keep a secret from me if there wasn't a point to it. Chances were there probably was no secret. Chances were I had just imagined that whole fiasco…I had had an overactive imagination at the time.

At that point I decided to take my father's advice and go outside, to meet some friends and to forget about the events of this morning. But I wouldn't forget the dream. I couldn't forget the dream. 'Foxworth Hall' was so beautiful. It was the perfect dream. And I promised myself that I would never forget a single detail of the mansion and it's garden as long as I lived. Place's like that only exist in dream and fairy tale, I told myself as I left my bedroom and wandered back down the stairs.

I left the house thinking of that garden and continued to do so as I walked along the street I knew so well. It lead straight to a lovely little scenic park that had once almost been demolished. My mother and father, I remember, had been furious and had organized a protest. And when I saw friends in the park, I then forget about the details of the dream as I used this time to get away from something that now seemed an important to my life – and yet it was something I'd been told to forget.


	6. The Price Of Revenge

The Price Of Revenge

It wasn't until that next morning that I was demonstrably attacked by the twins. I came to think of it as if they'd needed the entire of the previous day to scheme over what they could say. I'd tried to push memories of Foxworth Hall out of my head, but I seemed to see its beauty no matter what I did. I looked out upon my own garden and imagined it as the vast, beautiful land I'd experienced in the dream. I told myself that all of it would pass in a few days.

I was sat in the back garden at the time – which I'd always found the perfect place to escape the house when an argument was in commence between the twins and my parents. This time there had been no argument. But still I was sat on the beautiful antique bench in the complete silence. It was another perfect day – as yesterday had been – warm and sunny, with not a cloud in sight in the beautiful blue sky. I remembered to myself the story of the bench – how I had seen it displayed proudly just outside a gardening store when Mom an I had gone to find me some new summer shoes, two years back. I commented on the bench – enraptured by its beauty as soon as I laid my eyes upon it – and my mother had agreed to its elegance. A week later the bench had appeared at this very spot, where it still stood, in our garden. My father had bought the bench as a surprise for me. I'd wondered why he'd ordered me to stay out of the house for the entire morning – it had all been so that the bench could be delivered to the house and I wouldn't have known about it.

As I smiled to myself, remembering how I'd stayed on the bench all that afternoon that day – it was then that the twins appeared, as if out of nowhere. I didn't notice them at first; I was almost lost in my own thoughts.

"Maybe we should warn everyone at school that innocent Catherine is actually an evil witch, Darren," Deidre had said, attracting my attention. Although not really knowing what she was talking about, I half-frowned at her comment. "Yes, evil Catherine has magical powers," Darren added.

I always got annoyed when they came out here to attack me – when I was sat alone in the garden, in my own silence, minding my own business. "What are you two talking about?" I asked, agitated by their incessant ignorance. Considering they were two years older than me, they always acted so much younger than I was – as if they were desperately trying to keep hold of their childhoods.

"You see into the past, fallen angel. You saw the house. We didn't even realize what you'd done at first. Until we saw the expression on Dad's face," Deidre announced, sounding fundamentally happy with the situation. Darren nodded his head, standing right next to her, in agreement. They both stood tall in front of me, looking so much stronger than I. 'Fallen angel' Deidre had just called me…why? What had I done?

"Deidre, dear thorn, what on earth are you talking about? What do you know about the house in my dream? And why should you call me 'fallen angel'?" I asked, almost as if quipping. I'd learnt my sarcasm and ignorant talk back was the only way I could agitate Deidre as she agitated me. I saw anger rise in her expression.

"Dear half-sister," she began, mocking me again. "Don't expect that you know more than I. You'll soon know that, for once, I am smarter than you. I know more than you. Darren and I know the house. I remember it. And you will never understand why Dad looked at you the way he did. But I will. And I shall never tell you. Neither will Darren. You will no longer be Dad's precious little girl. Now he will hate you for saying that name. Foxworth."

I was viciously stunned by Deidre's words – there was no possible way I could come back after what she had said – or so I thought. Her words had been both cruel and mysterious. Darren was smiling, almost laughing at me. "Oh dear," he said, falsely. "You've stung poor fallen angel." Deidre laughed at his quip, and so he followed suit.

I then came to realize what I should've before I let Deidre hurt me with her words. My darling half-sister would do anything to upset or annoy me in any possible way. And she'd love nothing more than to break my so treasured relationship with my father – just to make me unhappy. I knew that, deep down, she felt underestimated by me. As if I was trying to steal our father away. I would never do that – but she didn't see. I knew she must have been uncomfortable, having only one parent around, on a daily basis, when I had the two most wonderful parents…both under one roof.

And, because of this, I decided Deidre was just being pathetic, trying to stir up yet another argument. Normally, I would try to ignore her best I could. I wasn't particularly fond of argument – something which she welcomed with open arms. But this time something felt different, I felt as if it were my duty to defend myself and the house the claimed to know. What did she know about Foxworth Hall? Absolutely nothing. I knew that. She just wanted trouble – and, stupidly, I gave it to her.

"Deidre, it is not my fault that you so desperately crave to be me. To have the same relationship with our father that I do," I began, standing up and edging slightly closer to her, to show that I was not going to back down. Darren seemed to take a few steps back. He saw the anger I did in Deidre; and he looked slightly worried. Deidre's face reddened as I continued. "Also, it is not my fault that you cannot have your perfect life with both of your parents together and cherishing you, as I have," I added. My head was screaming at me to stop. Why was I tormenting my sister so? Revenge, perhaps.

"Perhaps if your mother hadn't have been so cruel and thought more about her family than her selfish self, you would have what I have. It is not my error that your mother is so self-centered that she cannot love you as my mother loves me." I regretted it the moment I said it. But I had no chance to announce to Deidre that I was sorry for saying such evil things.

The very second I finished saying what I'd said; I had little time to breath, let alone anything else. I saw Deidre's face crumple in bitter hate. And maybe I saw a little portion of hurt there, also. But I had no time to double check. I didn't even notice Deidre's arm move, but I definitely felt the hard sting spread across my face as Deidre swung her hand at my skin. Pain tore through me, and I fell to the floor so weakly.

After the shock of what had happened, and the pain I felt, I looked straight up at Deidre. Still, she looked angry. But at the same time she looked ever so satisfied. And that frightened me. I quickly glanced at Darren, who stood staring down at me…so emotionless. I was so worried what Deidre would do next. But then I heard footsteps and saw my mother come into focus. I sat up, gripping my sore face as if it could soothe the pain. My mother began yelling at Deidre as she knelt down beside me. She removed my hand to look at my face. I didn't realize until then that tears were streaming down my face – my face that was stinging because of Deidre.

I was safe now – now Mother had come. She must have seen Deidre hit me. I was so glad that she had come to my defense. I was lucky that time – I escaped the full scale of Deidre's wrath. But would Mother be there to save me the next time…?


	7. Secrets Untold

Secrets Untold

My father had never hit either me or the twins in our entire lives, and he was a strong believer that punishing a child with physical pain was wrong beyond reason. And even I was shocked that night (after the twins had spent a lengthy time in their separate rooms as an initial punishment, and whilst my parents checked I were fully okay) when my father swore they were so lucky he didn't believe in violence as punishment, or else Deidre would have been so sorry. I saw an anger in my father's eyes that I'd never seen before, that I could remember.

Dad yelled at Deidre for what she had done to me; and at Darren for standing back and doing nothing about it. I sat so quietly on the sofa next to my mother, whom remained equally quiet, holding on to my hand – as if to support me. Just before I'd come downstairs, at my father's request, I'd looked into the mirror and saw already a welt had appeared on my face where Deidre had hit me. It looked awful, and it still hurt after all those hours I'd had it under ice.

At first Deidre had just sat and listened to Dad. But, after about twenty minutes of his lecture, it was as if she'd shifted into argument mode and suddenly she began to fight back. "Why is it always my fault in the god-damned house! Did you ask your precious Doll _why _I lashed out at her? You should have heard the cruel words she said to me!" Deidre announced, looking from father to me with such a look in her eyes that it scared me.

"Do not answer me back with that kind of ignorance, Deidre!" my father yelled back at her. "What you did today was inexcusable and I don't think I've ever felt so angry with you before! Today you attacked your own sister…and Darren, you did nothing to stop that attack…I will not have that behaviour in my house. If you say one disparaging remark towards your sister from now on – you will be out of this house quicker than you could imagine. I will not tolerate it!" Dad was scaring both me and mother at this point. I didn't want to be there – and never seen him like this before, especially not with his own children.

"A disparaging remark about my sister!" Deidre yelled back, unwilling to back down. "What about the disparaging remarks _she _made against my mother? Don't you dare take her side just because she is your favourite. We all know she is. And only because she belongs to the wife that was sad enough to stay with you longer than humanly possible!" Deidre was treading on such thin ice. I thought I'd saw my father wince as Deidre said what she said. She stood up right in front of him, as if they were squaring up. My father was raging now. Any person could tell he still didn't have the emotional capacity to talk about his ex-wife.

Part of me wished he'd yell at me for saying what I had indeed said to Deidre about Melodie Richarme. I shouldn't have said it and I knew it. But my father did not turn towards me with his anger. I think he might have been scared of himself at that point; how angry he was. I think that's why he sent Deidre up to her room. She stormed out of the room, and banged up the stairs. A brief moment later, her bedroom door slammed so hard I wouldn't have been surprised if it had flown of its hinges.

Darren began to stand up, as if ready to walk away. But without even looking Dad told Darren so simply, "Sit down." Darren did so immediately. He obviously saw that now was not the time to contest Dad as Deidre had.

Dad kept his eyes focused on the floor, instead of looking at me. Nor did he look at Mom. I knew in my heart that he couldn't. He couldn't look at anybody directly when talking about his first wife. "What did you say about Melodie, Catherine?" the fact that he hadn't called me Doll that time told me that he could get angry with me too.

"Dad, I told Deidre that her mother was too selfish to love Deidre and Darren the way my mother loves me. And that's why she hates me so – because she is jealous of me. I'm so sorry, Daddy. I know I shouldn't have said it. I knew I shouldn't have said it even as I was saying it – but I couldn't stop myself. It was like revenge for me. I shouldn't have done it, though. I was so cruel to Deidre." I realised that I may have been gabbling slightly – but he had to understand how sorry I was.

"Catherine you should know well by now that distributing remarks like that about something so sensitive purely for revenge is not acceptable behaviour," Dad said, sounding so disappointed in me that it brought me to tears.

"I do know that, Daddy. And I really am so sorry. But Deidre was winding me up so much – telling me that she knew more than me now and that you wouldn't love me anymore because of my dream about Foxworth Hall. And she said she remembered the mansion. And I knew she was lying to try to aggravate me- " I stopped first at the sight of Darren's surprised expression. I then looked to my mother, whose expression matched my brothers. Dad's expression was difficult to read. Why did they all do that when I mentioned the name of that mansion?

Instead of asking me, my father turned round to look at Darren. "Is this true, Darren?" Dad asked my brother. Darren simply nodded yes; I imagined he didn't want to say anything in case he stepped wrong and Dad began yelling at him all over again. At that, my father yelled Deidre's name. Her banishment had lasted a mere ninety seconds.

Moments later, Deidre came flouncing back into the room – always keeping her eyes on Dad. Dad simply pointed towards the sofa where she had previously been sat. Promptly, she walked over to the sofa and dropped down, as if she had no cares. Dad then turned around to look at myself and my mother. "Toni. Take Catherine to bed now…it's been a long day and she needs some sleep," Dad told Mom, much to my surprise. My father had made a point of me being here whilst he's lectured Deidre. Why was he now telling my mother to take me away from the argument? Was he going to talk to Deidre and Darren about something they were keeping secret from me? I begin to wonder whether my previous underestimation of the current situation had indeed been correct.

My mother nodded her head at my father obediently. She stood quickly, pulling me up with her. Mom guided me up the steps and walked me to my bedroom. She opened the door and waited for me to walk into the room, following in behind me. "Get changed and into bed quickly, Catherine dear, it's late," Mom told me, almost robotically.

Confused, I turned and asked my mother; "Why doesn't Dad want me in the discussion anymore? Do you all know something I don't?" Mother remained still for a moment. A moment too long, as far as my suspicion was concerned. Mother then put on a fake little laugh and announced, "Of course not, Catherine. You have a wonderful imagination. Now, come on, to bed." I stood completely still as my Mom walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. When I saw her face next, she was smiling at me. "Goodnight, honey," she said to me, as she turned to leave.

"Goodnight," I called behind her as she walked out of the door. She turned only to look at me one last time and to close my bedroom door. I sat on my bed for a few moments, lost in confusion. As I tried to make sense of everything that had happened so far, I realised there was no way I were going to work anything else stuck in my bedroom. No. I had to get back downstairs and hear what my father was saying to the twins.

I waited a few more moments – so to give Mom a chance to get back downstairs; so I would not be noticed. I heard the echo of the living room door closing downstairs. That was my cue. As I walked to my bedroom door, I began to feel worried. Worried of what I would learn from eavesdropping on whatever my Dad would say to Darren and Deidre. But I knew that I had to hear it. And what felt strangely like survival instinct was shouting at me, telling me to head down that stairs and stand outside that closed living room door.

I opened my door millimetre by painful millimetre, so it didn't make a sound and alert my family downstairs. With such precision I walked down the stairs in a silent step. I crossed the hallway and paused half way. No, I couldn't turn around and run back upstairs now. I had to know. Had to know what the secret was that everyone knew. Everyone knew something that I didn't.

I walked right up to the living room door and carefully placed my ear right up against the wood. I knew so well exactly how thin the doors in the house were, which made me so glad as the voices of my family began to speak of something I had no knowledge of...


	8. Virtues Of Truth

_Apologies for this chapter taking so long. Hopefully the next chapter will be finished within a week!_

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"So," my father's voice pierced through the silence. "What's going on here?" Luckily for me, my father seemed to have awaited my mother's return to the living room before he had begun. This meant that I would hear everything they said. No answer came, and I huddled further towards the door, wondering if one of the twins had replied and I hadn't heard it.

"Deidre, why did you tell Catherine you remembered this 'Foxworth Hall', making her believe there was such a place," my father's voice again spoke, slightly quieter this time. "How could you possibly remember a place you've never visited?"

"Dad, I love you and if you want to pretend to your precious favorite child that place doesn't exist; that's fine with me. But please do not play your mind games with me." Silence. And I was glad, because what Deidre had said had shocked me too, as I imagined my parents had been.

"Deidre, what on earth are you talking about? As I have told you many times, Catherine is _not _my favorite child – I love all three of you equally. And why do you seem to think there is a place like Catherine described, and I am simply hiding the truth from her?" Was that a falter I heard in my father's voice? It seemed, for once, it was my sister who was telling the truth – I tried to think back to the last time Deidre had been in the right. I couldn't remember – but now was not the time to be thinking of other things.

"I remember the mansion, Dad," Deidre said, with that same stubbornness that was so familiar in her voice no matter what she was discussing. "Don't pretend like it doesn't exist. Because it does. You know it, I know it. Everyone but precious Catherine knows it. Stop pretending and start talking to me like I'm an adult, as I am, and ask yourself how I can remember that place," Deidre added, in such a purposeful way that I'd never heard before. Yes, Deidre was strong minded – but I'd never heard her like this – to my remembering.

That momentary silence tarnished every hope I had that Deidre had been lying, and my hero Father would prevail over all. What he said next broke my heart beyond what words could ever fix. I hadn't asked for this drama, nor did I crave it. I hatred myself for having that dream, and opening this can of worms – as the old phrase went.

"How can you possibly remember Foxworth Foxworth Hall – you were only a year and a half when we left." And like a signature of blood, I knew that was it. The beginning of my life had been nothing like how I'd been told. My parents had lied to me. Could I learn to hate them? As this point, I felt it could be so easy.

"I don't know. I remember so little of my early childhood. It amazed me, even, when I first remembered. I was only about five, but I heard you and Toni mention it once in a private conversation. I was stood at the door and overheard. And that's when I first remembered. I didn't remember a lot. Only being sat in a small play pen beside Darren. Anyway, then I forgot again. But then I remembered a few years later, I can't remember what triggered it that time. Perhaps a news article in a newspaper, or something of the sort. But then when Catherine mentioned it yesterday at breakfast, and when I saw yours' and Toni's shocked faces – I knew then. That image of the two babies in the playpen – it brought it all back."

My god. Not only was Foxworth Hall a real place; my family had been there at one point. Before I were born, by the sounds of it. Before Deidre's speech, my father had said the twins had been a year and a half before they'd all left. That means I'd never been in Foxworth Hall, except of course for my mother's pregnancy. By the sounds of what my father and sister were saying, the twins had spent that entire year and a half in that house. Why? And how long had my Father and Mother been there? Oh, how I wish I understood. I'd felt a strong migraine coming on at that point, this made it quite painful to focus my attention on the conversation and concentrate.

"Is that even possible, Jory?" I heard my Mother's voice questioning my silent Father. I could imagine my Father's mind working so fast it could barely keep up with itself. "Apparently so," my Father answered, so simply – as if he were lost for words. A few moments later, he had regained his vocabulary.

"Okay, listen here you two. Well done Deidre for remembering a time so long ago – unfortunately, I have no doubts that your memory could be put to much better use. Toni and I left that place with you two, before Catherine was born, for a very good reason. Perhaps one day you will understand exactly why. But for this moment, just have faith in my words." Father was finally taking control of the situation, as he always did. Unfortunately, I couldn't feel the same pride in him this time as I had done do many times before. He'd lied to me, as had my mother, and now he was telling the twins to lie to me too. I know, even at the tender age of fifteen, that the betrayal my entire family was to show towards me could not possibly be right.

"I don't want you ever to mention that place again. Ever. You may think you need to know about that point in your life. But, trust me, you do not. It's dead and buried. And hopefully will remain that way. I don't want Catherine ever to know what happened at that place; neither do I want you two to find out. Please. Never mention 'Foxworth Hall' again."

The unison of replies from the twins made my heart ache. It seemed, for once, Deidre had noticed that my father was being deadly serious about all of this. The twins agreed to stay silent. Why did Deidre have to obey his wishes at the one time I most needed her to go against him and tease me with the information she knew and I didn't. It felt so strange to know I had to depend on whatever she threw at me.

If only I knew then that my father was saying was so right. If I'd have known it was for my own good, I would've forgotten about it in that very instance. Thing's would've been so different. But I was a kid – kids are so inquisitive. I had to know. I had to know everything about my parents' life before I were born. I had to know all about Foxworth Hall…


End file.
